


Blue is the Bird that Sings

by FabularumScriptorem217



Series: Blue [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Character Death, Gen, Spirits, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabularumScriptorem217/pseuds/FabularumScriptorem217
Summary: The world shifts, they are standing and the world is colorful, rainbowed hues, pulsing through the trees, the ground. They look up and it is dark (there is no sun, no moon).Little Flame.They turn.Blue Spirit, they are the Blue Spirit.
Series: Blue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839013
Comments: 24
Kudos: 449





	Blue is the Bird that Sings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MikkiOfTheAnbu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikkiOfTheAnbu/gifts), [KidWestHope16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidWestHope16/gifts), [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts), [ZenzaNightwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaNightwing/gifts).



> This work is **inspired by _blade of silver, forge of blue_ by [MikkiOfTheAnbu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikkiOfTheAnbu)** and **_Atla Au outlines to write later_ (Chapter 25) by [KidWestHope16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidWestHope16/)** It is actually a part of my series, Blue.
> 
> The characters mostly don't belong to me, some are atla, some are **[MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance)**, some (the spirits mostly are inspired by) **[ZenzaNightwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaNightwing)** , and some are mine. 
> 
> I hope you like it, kudos and comment, I'd love to hear what you think and any ideas on how you think I should progress this.

### Interlude:

As everything was breaking burning bursting, they did, they did grow—as big as the world, higher, higher, infinitely higher— and their conscience greater than the blue. The sun. Agni. They explode. They are fire. They are the darkness. The world is dissolving, but they are the world.*

And they are here.

Here, here, they are here

* * *

During the beginning, in the breath before their creation after the moment the iguana-parrot squawked and their ship burst, in that moment before they were here, then, Agni whispered “Be,” just as they were shouting, angry. 

And they were.

_Blue._

They were born, bright and blazing, and angry. So _so_ angry.

But, diving between worlds to here. Here. The other, theirs. They weren’t, angry that is. They weren’t for standing as they did, where they did, they couldn’t help the warmth (not burning not blazing) flooding their creation, their chest, as they stood, _home_  
( _They had always wanted to return home_ ).

And, they watched—

They watched how the colors swirl and pulse and felt drawn closer to them in turn. They wanted to taste and touch, to pull that light into their veins and let it stick. To coat themselves in the rainbowed hues that the trees, the earth, the plants, dance with.

They saw how their glow emits, bright and beautiful and other, and wanted to join it. They would be other. To dance under a darkened sky, one not lit up with light—no Agni no Tui, to guide them through this forest filled with beautiful things. Their hand touches bark, their head is thrown back, a laugh startled out from fanged lips. They touch, and from their fingertips the light—sparks and changes. They changed it. And it is beautiful,  
( _And they forget_ ).

They touch and there are sparks they ripple through the tree, a drop a touch that changes, and it is beautiful,  
( _And they forget_ ).

To stand under these leaves that light up this world, this night. This dark, for really there can be no night without a day, and they know in their soul their being that sings the truth to their ears, that there is no day. They are here and they are forever. And what does forever need of a concept of time? Dark dark shadows to play through and run through, they dance and fade through them watching staring twirling under the lights of this earth, this world they stand in. It is beautiful,  
( _And they forget_ ).

And it is forever.

They spin, their face fanged they grin, always grinning, their laugh carries through the trees and they watch the sparks the ground carries in their wake. Dancing. They are perfect,  
( _They are the Blue Spirit_ ).

Sparks like them, for they are a spark climbing higher and higher, maybe they’ll reach the black up above (maybe they can carry this light there if they climb—so they do). What is to stop them? So, they sit at the top of these endless trees, this forest, high up above their golden world, glowing, on a tree rainbowed, leaving gold leaving blue sparks pulsing down its length. They feel, or try to feel, what they had once known, but there isn’t—there is no wind, and they are tall infinitely tall. Looking down, they jump (for how could they ever be hurt) and they are there for they wanted to be there and so it is,  
( _They are not angry_ ).

And they aren’t sure how long they play and spin and dance and be, before—

 _Little flame_  
They turn.

* * *

Agni is old and forever, he is the light, and he watches his people.

He watches, as they turn from the meaning of his flames to hunt his children— his dragons.

He watches, as they burn and hurt the chosen of his family— those of the air and the sea and the earth. 

He watches, as his child, his descendant, burns his son— _His_ chosen. And screams.

Agni looks at his little flame, his spark, his trickster child…and he is sorry. This little flame, he had nurtured, born too early and too small—cold, he’d kept his spark small for he was small (too small) it wouldn’t blaze and burn as it cried for yet. It would grow to blaze and burn, bright. His little flame would be a wildfire, a second sun ~~son.~~

His chosen, his, was to ignite a movement—the change he wished for his people, to fan the flames and let them grow. His rebellious child—he would spark it and save them. His chosen. He was to bring them back under his light, and show them the warmth of fire, the meaning of it, life. For, he is Agni, and he gave them life. The spark, that even those that his people slaughter carry. Those that he had gifted an extra flame to hold, an inner fire, to light the night with. To warm the world. They were supposed to carry his light. But as he is so are they.

And he is Agni.

Agni who sparked their creation, their life. And Agni, the fire that burns and blazes, the end,  
( _Why had his chosen to emulate their end, he does not know_ ).

Do they forget?

The world is imbalanced and his people have caused it.

Do they forget, the air that feeds their fire, that keeps them blazing, that without it—  
Do they forget, the water that halts their blaze, stops them from burning too far, that without it—  
Do they forget, the earth that grounds them, their fuel, that without it—

Do they forget?

Fire needs fuel. And what will they do, when there is nothing left to burn?

His people, his broken people, they have forgotten. And his—his was supposed to spark a change and bring their light back to his. And he’d died.

He’d died rescuing the Bridge. He’d died wanting to go home, small, a child, a child—not yet knowing the true meaning of the flame, who did not understand. A child, who as children do, yearns to go home, to believe in a father, even as his experiences and what he bears witness to, tears at his foundations. His truth. A child, who had seen the Bridge and called him one. His flame, his little flame, who had expected an old man to carry home, one who had abandoned his, who had not protected his, as his flame had wanted to. He had died still small, still too young. He had died before completing the purpose he had been set out for, while saving the Avatar. Shrouded in the other that wraps around him, that lingers around the Bridge, lingers from his adventures, wearing a face of blue.

He watches.

Agni relights his spark,  
(he was not supposed to). 

He watches, as his child, his wildfire—little flame, had snuffed it. Again.

Diving into a river—to save a child. Lungs burning and straining, water his opposite, holding him pulling him, had put him back out. 

He watches

His little flame relights it,  
(he was not supposed to).

Relights it. Refusing to give up, he had set his own embers ablaze and shot to the surface. Agni had not needed to for he had done it himself (how had he done it himself?). Stubborn, rebellious boy. _Never give up without a fight._ Embers ablaze he had shot to the surface—and saved a little Earth Kingdom girl. 

He watches, as the other that hangs from his chosen, coating him, his arms, his legs, his fingertips, from the Bridge and spirits he seeks—he fights, began to change him. His child who had coated himself in other, not knowing of the shroud he had made for himself. –Agni did not stop it. 

He watches, as it changes him, and he does not stop it. For this, this was his child, and maybe it would save him (he watches the shroud form), maybe it will let him continue his path (he watches the world burn).

And, and—

Agni above (his turn to sleep) had not watched, he did not see…but his sister did. As a power hunger viper-snake upon an usurper’s orders, had tried to put out his wild child (as if one fire could kill another). The blaze the blast, and his had risen from the ashes of the hull of his damaged ship, blue.

**Blue.**

His little blue, Blue Spirit, the people had named him as, they prayed to him as, and he had shifted to that of spirit. His too early, too small—a child. 

Three times.

Three times he had died but they had rose, his inferno, his spark. They would continue on, they would burn and blaze and lead the change. They would protect and remember to play once more. They are a child and the guardian of them, they are blessed, and they are his.

 _Zuko_ —the Blue Spirit, was always his, (and will always be). 

Trickster child, a true child of Agni—the Trickster, Agni—the beginning spark and Agni—the end, the blaze. 

_His._

They will exist in shadows, for Agni creates them. They’ll protect and warm and be kind (they were human once). They are his, his second sun, his star, his little flame. Wildfire child—the Blue Spirit. His Blue Spirit will be great.

But still, he watches—and he is sorry.

* * *

Tui and La circle and circle each other, always circle one another. They circle and they cycle—as the moon does, as the tides do—and this is now and this is forever. They do not join the others in their home, their realm, they had left it, ages ago, ages and ages ago, they do not care to know how long, they are forever, they are not human. They had left and they do not return. They had left to go to the other world—the human world—where their people live. Those that worship them live. So, they did not see, they do not watch as the star dances, sparks in their wake. Tui’s eye watches her people, where her light touches, and her husband, La, tells of those that touch his seas. So, they know—they know and saw how the little blaze that had touched their waves, blue like hers, but is her brothers had joined them, other. Spirit. Burning blazing and bright, they will warm their waters and like her like La they are both. They balance, for they are equal and both things. They are bright—they blaze, and they are the darkness. She had watched him, how he had loved to be under her light, the tricks he had played and the justice he had met out. They are bright, the wildfire, and they are the darkness. They are kind and they are fury. The blade and the fire. She knows not what this little star will do, her brother’s child through and through, but she will watch…when her light touches (and her husband will tell her of what she misses, what he sees). 

Tui turns her face North, to watch her people (how they had strayed, do they forget that she is a woman? Do they not know her power, or do they not care?), to watch her chosen. And she prays, as she sometimes does—to what she does not know. She prays that none will take hers, too soon. 

She loves her child, but spirit not yet, hopefully not soon.

* * *

_They died, not once but three times, do they remember now?_

_No—an arrow not deflected but that struck true; of lungs burning screaming drowning lungs, rasped raw coated in salt; a sound to be investigated, a bird, the broken burnt ruin of his ship—No._

_They do not remember._

* * *

Forged in the flames of a broken ship, they do not remember. They do not know how they were made, but as spirit there are things they know. They know who they are, Blue, and they know what they are, Spirit. They know the name their people had given them, Blue Spirit. But they do not know how this has made them.

Agni knows, as he speaks to his child, his little child. He sees how the people who call for his flame had forged them. A name is powerful, and they had given them one. They had prayed to them. They had made them. The other that shrouded him had clung to their calls, and they had named them—kind spirit, helpful spirit—and so they are. So, they will be. They, who do not yet know to be cautious, he hopes to teach them. They, who had been forged in death, coated in a shroud of their making, altered and brought more so into being with each that called to them, worshiped them, they do not know. For as those villagers, those humans had forged them (Agni had forged them), they can also change them. And Agni worries. 

He loves his spirit, the Blue Spirit, and they are his, his child, and he does not wish to see them hurt once more.

Agni, had taken his light, and made his future star—one to be born among his to change them. And he watches as his people, those that Agni had granted life (he had granted all life) had hurt him, he watches as they had killed him, and yet they wish to make them theirs? Agni will not allow it, not fully. He will hold tight, as tight as one can with a trickster child.

And if they hurt them, if humans hurt them now, this new spirit flame, his star, Agni will blaze,  
(They will burn—no more, not again never again). 

* * *

Agni before them, the Blue Spirit watches, head tilted. Agni had called to them, for a minute _just a minute_ , and pulled them from the trees the colors they dance with, pretty. He had bid them to listen, as even now the song is calling, humming in their skin, the ground (they wish to join with it, to dance and laugh and add to it). But they wait and they try to listen, for this is Agni, a warmth they have always known. And, they are a spark, his little flame. For Agni is great, a great spirit, and they are simply spirit, smaller than, weaker than, newer than, so they listen. Listen, because they know as they know everything, that they are his—and they do not mind. 

He is warm and he is kind (although at times he pretends to not be—they still know that he is). And they are his. They listen as he warns them but they do not understand. The fires blaze along Agni’s mane, his hair, his head, and they can see that he knows this (And Agni worries).

If they were not spirit, to look at Agni would be to burn, but they are fire (and they had already burned) so they do not. He is bright so bright, and he is warmth and life and safe. They wish that they understood, it would make Agni happy if they did. 

_But how could humans hurt them, they are spirit?_

And humans are small and weak, with no forest to play through in an endless dark, not like them. They aren’t tall, tall, taller. They do not stretch to blue, as they do. They are endless and they are forever, how could they ever be hurt? 

Blue Spirit.

They are spirit—the Blue Spirit—and they are starlight.  
They do as Agni does, for they are his. They are trickster and they are playful ( _and they are young_ ).

They were human once, Agni says so. Sadly says so. They do not understand, and Agni knows this. They think this must be why they love the humans, they had seen them, they had watched them. They had learned that they can find and watch the human world, the other world. _Dancing with a song that never ends and playing with the sparks they leave in their wake. Running running through trees through rainbowed trees and hiding in shadows. Learning as the other spirits bid them to do, learning of these other spirits and finding tricks to play, challenges to meet._ They watch. Humans are fun.

And sometimes, they can hear them (calling out for them to save them from a war their ancestors started).

They can hear them, and they know that they call for them. They aren’t sure why, but they do. There are children who play tricks and run and pray at his alter. There are humans who bring them gifts, offerings. They want to take them, to accept them. But, Agni worries.

He does not want them to go so soon. He and the older spirits think them a child, and they want them to stay, to listen, to learn what it is to be spirit (Is he not a spirit, do they think they do not know themself?). They wait though, for Agni worries. And they play.

Red and Blue and Green and Orange, _colors colors colors_ , pretty. They spin, and watch them mix under foot, watch the blue the gold they carry join the others. Pretty.

There are shadows to hide in and trees to climb and songs to sing with. There is Agni, who will play with them, a playful trickster. Never Tui, never La (they are not here, they are never here). They watch the sparks, and glance at the humans. They climb higher and higher, a spark in the dark—the endless dark, and listen to their prayers. They play with the others, the small spirits, the minor spirits, and long to run in the other—the other world.

_Humans._

They cannot help but be curious.  
(It is in their nature, to be kind, to be helpful— and they cannot help much when here).

Dark above them, colors around them, they stand before the mountain. The three spirits of the mountain have names, surely they do. But they do not know it as they stand before them. They know if they tried they would simply know, a feeling ringing singing in their head in their ears. They could simply posses the knowledge of it, but they dare not look. Names are important. And the three spirits are old.

The three spirits are old, not like Oma and Shu, they were once human and so are young comparatively (not as young as them). They are the foundation the other world is built on. The mountains are old and the Blue Spirit should but they do not need to know their names. They do not play with them as Agni does, they are serious and wish to make them so. Telling of rules and humans and the world, as if they do not know it. The three spirits do not know them and so they do not care to know their names in turn. They even ask them, what spirit are they.

They do not know—they forget (forget as they try to make them ordered, they forget what they are, _whose they are_ ). 

_“Rebellion,”_ they smile as if they are baring teeth baring fangs.

It is true and it is not. They are the spirit of it, the spark that starts it. But it is not all they are, but they will not tell them, not yet, the three spirits of the mountain will watch, and they’ll see.

They’ll see as they do and then they will not ask of them to ignore, to follow the rules, to not interfere. To change. They are kind and protective, and they will not allow any to stop them from doing what is right. The humans ask for help, cry for help, and they will answer it. They will defend their homes and protect those that need it, that call for it (not another child burnt, not another child broken). The other world burns, it is imbalanced, there is war—and they were meant to realign it. They will. They will be kind not cruel (for they were named as such). They were human once, Agni said, sadly said. They are Justice met out and a fire to warm. 

They will teach that fire is life, they will show them, they will help them. They will do what Agni had wanted—what they had been created for.

The three spirits forget, they are Agni’s, they are trickster child, playful child. They were born his in the world before and they were born his in this one. They are always his. And one does not control a trickster child. 

They will learn and they will listen, but they will not change,  
(Spirits do not change, ~~easily~~ ).

The three spirits of the mountain, they warn as others have:

_“Do not interfere, young one.”_

_“We are spirit, and our worlds are separate for a reason.”_

_“There is a reason, you do not need to know it.”_

They say, as if they will not question. They are stubborn and they are rebellious. 

They were human once, so they will be kind. They hear the prayers and they will answer.

* * *

Agni knows, they can see it in the colors that churn through his flames. Green and Blue and Purple. They ring his head his body. He is fire and he is light. Too bright, to look is to burn and to turn away is to see his image after. He is tall and he is forever. He carries a resemblance to the people he calls his, if one is to ignore the wheels of flame and his fiery mane and the claws and the, the— Agni watches over the other world, a job he shares with his sister, Tui. They watch the humans (but they do not interfere, often). 

Agni knows but he is Agni the trickster, and he will not stop them from theirs.

It will all be a trick, a grand trick. The other spirits need not know how they tilt the odds in the humans favor. _It was just a game, of course it was, what else could it be?_ They are young and they are forever. Young, still too young. They are a child spirit and they will always be child now. That is what it means to die as one, to become spirit as one. Agni says so. Sadly says so. They will be forever, but they will not age. They will never age now. 

However long they have played, however long they’ve allowed themselves to run among the colors, they know that they’ll leave soon. The humans call. 

And they will leave soon.

* * *

_“Blue…”_  
They know it is time.

Time to leave, time to run and hide and help.

The world is broken.

_“Blue Spirit…”_

They run—they are fast none will catch them—none that would try.

The world is broken, the spirits know this, they watch but they do not interfere. _Some watch and wish they had interfered._

They run—and they dive, between the worlds they swim, but they’ll get there they know it. 

_“Blue Spirit, please let my…”_

Swim through the void between the gates. The portals have been closed for ages, they were not to be used. That would not stop them. They swim, pulling their way through other, the rainbowed veins of the world they were in, that run through here, they pool here—for them to swim through. The strings that coat their arms and try and pull them back, they are meant for the spirit world now it will always be easier to return there. They will make it. They are stubborn,  
( _Never give up without a fight_ ).

The world is broken, and they are there (the other world—the human world). They frown, it does not look right. It is not colorful, it is not bright. No rainbowed veins to light the ground, to spark in their wake, no endless singing to dance with, to laugh with. 

Agni laughs above,  
( _warm they are warm, Agni is still with them_ ).

They were human once. Agni said so, sadly said so. They must have forgotten. The earth does not sing, but eyes closed they can feel it hum deep down below (Oma and Shu and the Three Spirits of the Mountain, whose name they chose not to know). The ground is not rainbowed, but it has color, green. And the sky—the sky up above, Agni up above, is blue. Blue Blue Blue. It is bright lit up with the light of their father, Agni. Not dark. Feng brushes against them, playful, and there is wind. If they go out, out towards blue, they would hear La in the waves that lap the shore. The world is broken, the world is different.

A sound, and they are in the trees now (trees that do not pulse with their touch) and they watch. As Agni watches. _Humans._ There is the color, the light. They can see Agni’s spark, their life. They can feel the warmth and see the warmth that this human carries. 

_Words whispered reverently to them and only them._

They turn,  
(and go). 

**Author's Note:**

> And they are back, to the other world-the human world. 
> 
> Sorry, this took so long the headache to non-headache day ratio was not in our favor. Let me know how you like this and if you have any additional trouble you want them to get into. We have one more quick interlude before we head North to the events that are going to happen there. Thanks for reading.
> 
> *A reference/alteration on the quote from Aimé Césaire, _The Collected Poetry_


End file.
